


Forever Yours

by Tyndale



Category: Dragonball Z
Genre: Dragon Ball Z - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyndale/pseuds/Tyndale
Summary: Piccolo can't dismiss the desirous thoughts about his ally. Warning. MalexMale romance.





	1. Chapter 1

Piccolo could remember the first time—how it all happened. It started behind a curtain of flowing water. He'd been deep in the moment, unable to subdue the desire pulsing through him. It wasn't supposed to happen that way. He'd only wanted to talk but an unspeakable impulse prompt something else. Before he could destroy the strange feeling, it was already too late. His mouth devoured the lips of his mutual ally. Then, suddenly, a hand was pressed against his shoulder. The slight gesture implied to him a mixture of shock and confusion—but there was not enough of both to insist he back away.

So, he continued to kiss. In went his tongue into the sensual, warm mouth. The hand on his shoulder crept to the back of his neck. Fingers gripped the thick muscle and just as his mouth opened wider, the trembling hand forced him forward. It was an invitation in which he quickly accepted. Not long after, an echo of moans rebounded through the watery oasis—this being an even greater indication there was no need to stop.

Soon, the kissing provoked a tussle of turns and shoves that would properly decide who'd be the one to lead. He remembered twisting his ally backwards towards the slab of rock surrounding them. And in seconds, bare skin and wet stone collided—signaling a leader had finally emerged. The reward for winning—of course, was a pair of strong eyes staring up at his features, exploring—in a sense, the structure of his face. The startled but fascinated stare from his ally caused him to slow his kiss to soft, drawn-out pecks.

"Piccolo, are you okay?"

The memory looping in his mind dissolved quickly. A flood of sunlight drowned his eyes causing him to blink. For added measure, birds chirping in the distance further alerted him to the reality of the moment. He'd been daydreaming again. At least three times a day, his mind would wander off to some situation in the past. Previously, there'd always been a sense of alertness. A serious calm described his personality very well. He'd given himself the title anyway, knowing straightly there was rarely a time he would portray an overzealous nature—especially not in the form of joy or laughter. It seemed fighting was the only thing to surface his emotions—well, maybe not anymore. There was now something else that appeared capable of causing uproar inside of him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Gohan," this reply, however, didn't deter his companion's concern.

"You seem out of it. Are you sure? I mean, if something is wrong—"

"Nothing is wrong," he insisted with a grumble, "I should ask you the same question. What has gotten into you that you feel the need to ask me things like this?"

Gohan looked off into the distance. A pink hue decorated his cheeks. "You know, I care about you, Piccolo. You're my mentor and…"

"I haven't been your mentor in years," the remark was stern, "Besides, you have your father now. Goku isn't going anywhere, anytime soon."

"I know but my dad likes fighting with Vegeta. Not so much me, anymore."

Piccolo shifted on his feet. The young man's statement concluded what he'd always known: Gohan's presence in his life was profound. The saiyan needed him—had always needed him. Maturity had strengthened Gohan, it had even enlightened the half-breed, but Piccolo could still sense the little Gohan buried deep inside the man standing an arm's length away. Another conclusion dawned on him: the young man wasn't afraid to express his feelings. The distinctive trait seemed inherent. Goku, in particular, managed to constantly say exactly what he felt without much regard for immediate consequences and in turn, Gohan had easily picked up this habit from his father. Say whatever comes to mind—that was the motto.

Strangely, after so many years of knowing the Son family, Piccolo never caught on to the trend. Picking words carefully was his strong point. With much consideration, he'd frequently articulated what he wanted to say, which often times ensured a favorable outcome—not always but at least sometimes. And just like any other time in his life, Piccolo would think before saying another word.

"It doesn't matter who he likes fighting with. You're his son. You will always matter."

A nervous hand slid through black locks. For a second, Gohan paused, keeping his palm stuck between the strains. Something dawned on him. Suddenly, he resumed the full stroke and eventually rested his hand at his side. "Maybe you're right," his voice seemed confident again.

"I am right," Piccolo corrected with a sly smirk.

Gohan peered over to stare at his friend. He smiled slightly. It was a weak, half smile—nothing like the normal Son smile Piccolo was used to.

"But Vegeta…I just—I can't compete. He's way stronger than me and I know it. I think dad knows it, too. I just feel like my dad doesn't need me anymore. But like you said, I'm his son. He'll always need me, right?"

It was his turn to look away. Piccolo stared off in the distant. The rhythmic sound of the leaves rustling in the wind provided a momentary distraction. His gaze fell to an area bathed in sunlight. A large oak tree, with what seemed like a thousand branches, caught all of his attention. The sight of it reminded him of someone. The might of the oak symbolized its greatness. All the other trees appeared to dwindle under the oak's magnificent girth and strength.

"Gohan," he suddenly directed his gaze to the sky, "go home."

"Come on," shrieked the stunned saiyan, "really, Piccolo?"

"Yes, really," his voice boomed, "I told you already that everything will be fine. What more can I say?"

The saiyan half-breed shrugged his shoulders, "I was hoping you'd keep talking to me. I mean, it's been awhile. It really has. I feel like I'm losing my dad and now—"  
"Just go home," he repeated with an even sterner voice, "I'll try seeing you later."

Gohan hesitated. Their history together suggested Piccolo wasn't the type to pressure. Most of the time—if not all the time, when the Namkien said anything, he normally meant it. Throughout his childhood, he remembered the meticulous nature of his mentor. Things were his way or there was hell to pay. Everything about the Namkien's personality seemed completely opposite of his father. With his mentor, life and training felt more structured. Rules were accompanied with consequences and in some ways, Gohan decided Piccolo was indeed a male version of his mother. And truthfully, he loved his mother. Although her control over his life was overbearing, Gohan believed Chi-Chi's controlling personality was her way of expressing unyielding love to him. Therefore, in his mind, Piccolo was no different and for certain, his uncompromising tongue was a form of affection.

"Alright, I'll come by another time. Thanks for the chat, Piccolo."

Normally, he knew he would have tolerated him longer. Today, however, the will wasn't there. After a spar, it was natural for them to discuss things. Gohan lived in the city by himself and life was different than at Mount Paozu with Goku. The life of living out in the wilderness was certainly unusual for the Earth breed saiyan,too. Being out here, among the trees and wildlife, limited their time together. Gohan was used to a couch, four walls, and indoor plumbing. Piccolo, on the other hand, could manage to live without these things—thus the conflict. On one hand, Gohan was willing to accept his Namkien ways but on the other, the saiyan never failed to suggest the option of moving to the city. Piccolo dismissed the idea. The city wasn't what he ever wanted—he could do without the noise, the people, and the pressure to conform. Besides, Earth was not his home. He lived on this planet but, inwardly, he never considered it home.

Home was Namek—it was where he knew he should be. Years ago, he'd thought of returning but forgot about the idea entirely. Something had happened which made him reconsider. It was something that should have meant nothing but gradually became more meaningful to him than his own life. That something was a kiss. It shattered his perfect world in an instant. Every thought he'd ever had concerning himself was distorted. Confusion and passion twisted and melded together; creating in his heart a deep longing he could never understand. These feelings, these strange feelings, kept him stationed on Earth. On Namek, the unsual emotions would have merely haunted him but at least on this planet, answers could be discovered somehow.

Very quietly, Piccolo settled to the ground. Legs were meticulously crossed. Then, in seconds, he drifted a few feet from the grassy field. Calmly, dark eyes closed and a shallow breath was exhaled through the nostrils. A sudden peace consumed his body. With peace, Piccolo noticed his mind often drifted off to the past. Meditation, for now, wouldn't be the right choice. So, quickly his orbs opened.

A shadow emerged in his sight. He could see the outline of dark spiked hair. Suddenly, a chill seized him. This was the person willfully disturbing his thoughts. This was the man who awakened a desire inside he'd never known.

"What do you want," he inquired with a husky voice.

The shadow was silent. Its hands were held at the edge of a blue shirt. Gently, the fingers tugged the garment upwards, deliberately going nice and slow. Piccolo swallowed hard. His blood warmed upon seeing tight flesh stretched over a canvas of taut abs. To his frustration, the movement of the shirt stopped just before revealing two distinctive buds. He knew one glance at their bareness would spark all his limitless passion.

"Not here," his voice commanded.

To the contrary of his speech, Piccolo wanted it to happen here. In this place, out in the middle of nowhere, he craved another opportunity to indulge himself. However, the deceitfulness of his tongue begged a differ—and for good reasons. For one, he'd created the illusion of honoring their secrecy. Not here insisted an acknowledgement toward the seriousness of their meetings. Piccolo was sure, however, not a soul had ever made an indication of being aware. The Z group laughed and joked as usual. He kept distant and they accepted his reserved ways. In fact, there were never any whispers or gossip and for the most part, no one perceived an understanding, so he believed strongly everything between them would remain hidden.

Still, Piccolo wanted to portray a concern and caution with the hope his ally would continue their private meetings. And most importantly but more simply, his verbal command had wisely revealed an un-rushed heart. A needy heart signaled weakness and the man standing before him detested such things.

"Where then," the question was asked with a gruff tone, "In my bed? On my couch?" the tone deepened to a soft, throaty purr, "You'll go up my ass again, won't you?"  
The shirt dissolved into grass. It melted into the ground as if it had never existed. The sun-kissed skin, gleaming in front of him, burst into tiny, beige pearls and each round sphere skid away across the grassy field. Piccolo tumbled to the ground. The deep meditation created a dream within a dream. He'd been trapped within his mind the whole time. It frightened him—the depth of the dream. Unlike any other fantasy, this one involved a discussion. The shadow spoke to him but in reality, they hadn't spoken in months.

As he lifted, Piccolo wondered if soon they'd finally speak. Would things become clear or further distorted? Slowly, weak feet walked along the grass. In the distance, he witnessed the sight of water and stone colliding—truly a dark harbor of memories. Piccolo looked away, not feeling ready to revisit the secluded area. Instead, he journeyed south toward a barren field. At least in this place nothing could remind him of his ally.  
TBC...


	2. The Invitation

"It's just for a couple of weeks. I promise, Piccolo," Goku poked out his lips like a small child. "Me and Vegeta need a challenge. You were my choice."

One con of living outdoors involved the fact there was no place to truly hide. Within a home, a door could have been locked in order to prevent disturbance. In the wilderness, nothing really could stop his friends from finding him—especially not two highly trained saiyans. Even if he had lowered his ki, one of them, if not both, would have picked up his energy.

Thus, this conversation seemed inevitable. The overall discussion wasn't ear-numbing. Goku proposed an invitation to join them in battle. It wasn't a tournament. Rather, the fight would be for simple pleasure. Normally, something in the matters of sparring intrigued him. Over the years, his level of power had increased dramatically. Fighting longer came with ease and recovery time didn't seem as long.

However, he could admit, even with a recent increase in power, his energy was no match for Goku. Furthermore, he couldn't forget the recent discussion with Gohan. The young man had openly expressed his fear of being overlooked—not that the twenty year old was an attention seeker. In a sense, what he wanted was natural. He craved his father's focus and the reasons were justified.

Goku wasn't dearest daddy. Time spans created rifts between the relationship he had with his sons and Gohan, overall, suffered the most. If anyone should demand Goku's interest, it should be his first born son. But proclaiming this to the saiyan in front of him wouldn't be easy. The awareness of fatherhood only ventured so far in Goku's mind. Protection of an offspring was instinctual, therefore, Earth's hero never failed at the role. Bonding seemed perfectly natural for Goku but only when it concerned activities of training and fishing. From Piccolo's knowledge, Gohan had never expressed having a conversationalist father. It was time, after so many years, for Goku to take a third role in his son's life. Protection was a good thing. Bonding was, too but now the hero would need to be the person Gohan could truly connect with both mentally and emotionally.

"I won't," he said flatly, arms crossed over his chest.

"You're kidding," Goku smiled but upon not receiving a return smile, the saiyan pouted even more, "Darn it, Piccolo! You can't be serious. This is really something that can strengthen us all. I mean, just think about it. After these battles, you could be ten times stronger."

A boldness deepened his tone, "Why me? Why not Gohan? Why not your son?"

"He's weak," dark eyes faced Piccolo. The look on the prince's face was unyielding, "and you know he is, so why bother to ask us ridiculous questions."

"Don't say it like that, Vegeta," Goku tried to ease the tension but it was already too late.

"Weak or not, he's your son, Goku and you should consider paying him alittle more attention."

He'd said it. As awful as it sounded, he said what needed to be said. The spoken truth caused two pairs of eyes to stare him down. Nothing about the glances were subtle but at least one pair of eyes didn't make him feel so nervous. Inwardly, deep within the context, there was a second truth to his speech. He wondered if his ally understood the meaning behind his words.

_ This was how you busied yourself. How you managed to forget… _

"The boy has distractions. I assume it's a woman who has him unfocused."

Earth's hero rubbed the back of his neck, "Gohan didn't tell me about that," pupils suddenly dilated, "did he tell you he had a lady friend, Piccolo?"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and bowed his crown slightly, "No, Goku. Even so, if you spent time with him, you would find these things out."

"Forget the Namkien, Kakarot. Let's leave," the prince announced with an air of might. "Besides, the green freak may be in the same condition as your brat."

That statement could have meant two different things. "What condition is that, Vegeta," Piccolo hissed.

The royal blood flashed a haughty smirk. Silence lingered for a moment. They stared at each other sternly, waiting for the other to back down but neither was willing. Soon, the saiyan's smirk widened and Piccolo felt his blood warm. The sight of the half-smile knotted his stomach. Only the prince could peel back his skin and crawl beneath it. Only the royal heir could thump his heart and force the sound to resonate through both eardrums. Such power should have belonged to someone else—surely anyone else than him. This was not the case, however, and Piccolo—against all the will in his heart, decided to relinquish his power. Defeated, he stared elsewhere with his arms still tightly folded.

"Look, Piccolo, I'll talk to Gohan. I really will," Goku sounded concerned, "But I still want you to join me and Vegeta. Maybe I can spar with Gohan the first week and then join you and Vegeta the second week. How does that sound?"

Piccolo kept his gaze on the mountain range. In the distant, he could see birds flying in a particular area. Their graceful formation created a wide circle. They flew behind one another in perfect balance. Their repetition reminded him of the past—how over and over again, he'd meet his ally and how over and over again, they'd melt into one another.

"Piccolo?" Goku shook the Namiken's shoulder, "is it a deal?"

Their eyes met. He stared closely while his mind pondered all the consequences of his answer. Eventually, Piccolo replied with a serious pitch.

"No."

"Then it's settled, Kakarot."

Goku looked downhearted, "Alright but if you change your mind, just—."

"I won't," his reply was harsh.

Earth's hero hesitated but eventually, he raised his ki slightly and elevated to the sky. A friendly wave concluded his visit. Vegeta, however, did not take to the air immediately. He lingered a moment longer. His back faced Piccolo, his arms were conceitedly crossed.

"It made you weak."

Suddenly, a streak of yellow ki flamed the atmosphere. Before Piccolo could say a word, the prince was gone. The impact of the words felt piercing.

_ It made you weak… _

His heart was unwilling to disagree.  _ It  _ had made him weak. No one would have noticed but  _ him _ . Those unsympathetic saiyan eyes could see right into his soul. Hiding such a thing seemed so foolish but Piccolo felt he could suppress the emotion.

_ It made you weak… _

Piccolo covered his eyes, shielding away from view the wave of memories—Suddenly, it seemed as if the trees haunted him. The birds teased him. The grass mocked him. The rocks tortured him. He couldn't cast his gaze on anything right now. Quickly, the alien soared into the air. His powerful ki dazzled the sky a brilliant gold just as the cool wind fluttered his cape and garments.

TBC...


	3. There's No Escaping You

Panting…It was all he could hear. The piercing noise transcended any other sound he'd ever heard. And he'd heard plenty of sounds in his life—bones snapping, blood splattering. But nothing compared to this sound. To capture its resonance felt impossible. And of course, his memory could make a copy but the original was what he craved.

_"No more after this. I swear it."_

The panting continued. He could hear the deep breaths echoing in the secluded cavern. Strong hands were braced against red stone and with a careful gaze, he noticed their slight tremble. The shadow in front of him had every right to be nervous. They weren't supposed to be here doing such things—melting into one another nor casting light through a hole meant to see none. He was aware everything in the universe forbade it. And yet Piccolo decided what he shared with his ally was beyond the scope of the universe.

"Hey! Piccolo!"

Normally, his mornings belonged to him. There were never any visits from anyone at the break of dawn. No one cared to be up at such early hours and if they were up, none would make the decision to venture into the wilderness to bother him. Today, should have been like any other morning and yet, Piccolo found it strange that in his very predictable routine, there was now a sudden disturbance.

More awfully, the day before, he hadn't managed to stabilize his emotions. It seemed every attempt was pointless. Further seclusion had not worked. Even in the deepness of a dark cave, the memories of his past managed to coil its way around his mind. Sleeping had not worked, either. A million thoughts besieged him; the weight of them all seemed to have collapsed his skull. Neither was exhaustion helpful. He'd thought for sure his body and mind would become engulfed by the power of natural fatigue. However, there was a miscalculation of his own strength and for at least a day, his entire body was alert enough to continue to endure the onward torment of old memories.

He blamed himself for this sickness in his gut and the unhappy mood. The moment his eyes had spotted his ally, Piccolo knew he should have departed. Instead, he had stayed with the idea in mind that if he had left, his leaving would have provoked suspicion. A question would have been asked, "Why did you leave like that?" and another, "Is something going on with you and him?" It wasn't to say he couldn't handle the questions. Piccolo had never allowed anyone to invade his privacy. But still, he wanted to avoid such things all together.

What happened yesterday was foolish on his part—he knew better. In fact, he'd never considered himself to be so reckless. Inwardly, his cautious mind had insisted on exiting the conversation immediately. A loud voice screamed through every corner of his mind all the consequences of his actions. The sound had set sparks off behind his eyes as it tried its best to deafen any other noise.

There was one noise his guarded mind could not silence. No matter how loud the precautionary shouts were, there was no annihilating this noise that seemed to ricochet from the deepness of his chest. Besides, he'd suppressed everything for too long. Like anything covered up, when revealed, it is destined to release itself in a glorious, triumphed clamor. And as he feared, in that moment just yesterday, every captured memory flooded the surface of his armored chest. It shattered boundaries—ripping through with unbelievable force. With the depree cast aside, all that remained was pulsing, red heat which pumped through a domed vortex believed to have been dormant for years.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

Piccolo rubbed his eyes briefly and tried focusing them. He managed to spot Gohan bent at the waist and staring down at him. " You really need a bed, Piccolo. I mean, I could get you one and you could just sleep on it. I really don't like seeing you sleep on the ground out here."

He hated Gohan's suggestions of certain things. The young man was constantly offering to buy him something. Either it was towels to dry off with when getting out of the river or soap to help with staying fresh. The saiyan's slight hints never went unnoticed. Piccolo was aware Gohan wanted him to take a trip out of the wilderness and into the city. The Namkien was just tired sometimes of hearing the same nonsense. The half-breed wasn't being helpful as he'd perceived himself to be. The mention of living like everyone else only made Piccolo feel less intrigued at the idea of leaving his home. In fact, nothing about his personality was like everyone else and he'd known this for awhile, even if no one else had suspected it.

"I don't need a bed, Gohan," he lifted slowly to his feet, "what do you want, anyway?"

"I wanted to see you," his reply was upbeat. A grin was stretched across his youthful face. It was remarkable to see the smirk so close up—how his lips curved seemed perfect. The sight of it heated Piccolo's skin.  
They all smirk the same way…Even when he does it…it's the same.

"My dad came by yesterday. I was surprised because he never comes to the city unless it's to eat at a buffet restaurant. Anyway, he came by and he said something I wasn't expecting."

Piccolo raised a single brow, "And what did he say exactly?"

"You know," his grin widened, "Don't you?"

Yesterday's events weren't supposed to be glued in his memory. But the events were and for justified reasons, Piccolo wanted to play clueless for once in his life. It was an extremely rare mannerism in which he purposefully neglected. Besides, yesterday was not like any other day. What occurred between him and his ally had suddenly breached the canopy of his soul. The only hope of sealing the fracture involved making sure he never crossed path with his ally again. Then, and only then, would the rupture restore itself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, so just say it," Piccolo hissed.

Gohan rubbed the back of his neck. The grin lessened and soon the young man wore a gentle smile. " My dad offered to spar with me for an entire week! Can you believe it? At first, I couldn't but then he told me he had a talk with you and well, he felt bad about not being around and all. So, he said he'd make it up to me with a few spars!"

"Yeah, Gohan, I understand now," he cracked his neck to ease the stiff tension that came from laying on the ground for too long, " but why are you here?"

"The deal my dad offered you, he told me you didn't take it?"

"I didn't but how does that concern you?"

"Come on, Piccolo! You have been out here by yourself for years. I think these last few months you ventured out of the wilderness for one reason or the other but now you've come back here and you're isolating yourself. It's not like how things were before. You need people. You need," his voice trailed off for a second, but then it suddenly returned. It was much softer than before, "you need someone. You do."

Those single words couldn't be further from the truth. He did need someone—but not just anyone. In fact, there had always been a carnal desire smoldering the inner workings of his body. He craved to have someone soften under his palm and to widen to take all of him in. The desire had never abandoned him. It banged his temple like a drum, forcing itself to be heard loudly and clearly. He'd managed to ignore it—to some degree, but just recently, Piccolo realized it was becoming harder to silence the strong yearning.

He wanted to believe the desire could be lured back into submission. Somehow, his body wouldn't need to be reminded anymore. As if by magic, his hands would forget the softness of someone else's skin. And maybe, after awhile, his body would learn to destroy the memory of what it felt like to plunge into something tight and wet.

"I think you should come with me for a visit to the house. Mom's having a gathering because apparently Goten has a chance at enrolling in a great preparatory school. It'll be nice to have you over and plus, I hate seeing you out here, Piccolo."

Perhaps it was a distraction that he needed—a distraction beyond sparring. Maybe Gohan's suggestion wasn't all too bad. The sound of laughter was, no doubt, more pleasurable than the desperate moans hollowing in between his ears. And a cold drink—of any type, wouldn't do as much harm as his ego insisted. Naturally, he felt he was too good for such things—gatherings, parties, drinking, and literally all types of human customs. Now, Piccolo was considering Gohan's offer as something appealing. Besides, the wilderness managed only to bring back memories he wanted to demolish. Even if such destruction of his memories was temporary, Piccolo craved for at least a few moments of peace.

" Will you come with?" Gohan asked with a hopeful smile.

He reflected and then answered, " Only for a little while."

The young saiyan smirked, " You know," his smirk widened, "There are some units at my apartment for lease."

Piccolo pulled on his cape and turban hat. He growled under his breath, "No! I told you, already. I won't say it again!"

"Okay, okay, okay," he lost the grin, "but I'm telling you, Piccolo, you need to be around people. Being out here alone has made you really grouchy."

* * *

 

While at the gathering, Piccolo kept thinking of how good it felt to be in something so deep. To have his entirety, engulfed up to the brim, was an unforgettable feeling. He had imagined no one could handle his stamina. No one could take all that he had to offer without writhing. That is, until he met him… With him, there were no restrictions…no boundaries…no holding back. He could plunge into the deepness of an unspeakable warmth, ravish it with speed and vigor, and—with absolute pleasure, feel this warmth slowly stretch to swallow him whole.

Every bit of his pride insisted he forget. Forget the indescribable feeling. Forget the desperate moans. Forget the passionate way his name was screamed from quivering lips. The memories weren't necessary—especially not right now. Their purpose only seemed to lead to further frustration and Piccolo quickly realized it was already frustrating enough that he had to pretend nothing had transpired between himself and his ally. It wasn't to say he couldn't be secretive about the matter between them. He was certain he could, however, it was his ally that wasn't making the situation very easy.

_What is he doing here?_

" Woman, don't provoke me!"  
"Will you just act like you care for once!"  
"You are wasting my time!"  
"Just find a place in the room and behave yourself! We are only here for an hour."

It was only natural, upon seeing him, that his chest would suddenly tighten. Piccolo noticed his own awkwardness. Years ago, there would have never been a reaction. He would have stood before his ally with a neutral look across his face. His eyes would have held their gaze powerfully and his proximity would have been much closer. However, now, Piccolo understood things were different. There were emotions stirring up inside him. He could feel them violently spiraling within. Their force was tearing down his ego, leaving him with a feeling of pure vulnerability.

He hated feeling this way―so confused and tempted. Things in life had to make sense. Everything had to be logical. Yet, what he felt inside didn't make sense to him. He couldn't understand why his mind wouldn't just let go of the memories and why couldn't his body stop reacting so profoundly to his ally.  
I should feel nothing for him. He feels nothing for me.

It was hard not to watch the source of his desire—painfully hard. It took all of him to look away and exit out the front door. Piccolo stood beneath a small tree outside. His eyes scanned the sky above his head. Slowly, very slowly, he could feel the memories rushing to the surface of his mind.  
The way he moaned...  
His body against mine...  
I want him...again.

"Fuck," Piccolo hissed bitterly, " Damn it!"

A calm voice intruded his moment of frustration, "Hey, Piccolo! Why are you out here?"

There was complete silence. Piccolo wouldn't turn around to face who had spoken. Instead, he remained facing the opposite way with his arms tightly crossed.

"Don't want to talk?" the calm voice paused for a few minutes but then continued, "Hehe. That's okay. That's like you, lately. Not that that's a bad thing, by the way. You're kinda like, Vegeta."

" I'm nothing like him," Piccolo insisted sternly. "The fact that you think I am insults me, Goku."

"Sorry," the saiyan apologized sheepishly, " but Piccolo, you know Vegeta isn't that bad of a person. I mean, he did want to kill me that one time, and the Majin Buu thing…Well, I don't know if that one counts, but like lately, Vegeta has been getting better."

"Better in what ways?"

"You know…being nice and stuff."

Piccolo recalled the sight of the sky. It appeared endless—endlessly blue. It stretched for miles above his head, beautifully adorned with enormous clouds. However, there was another side to this very same shimmering, blue sky—a dark side. And Piccolo concluded that something astonishing could easily turn into something dreadful.

"Nothing about Vegeta is different, Goku. Nothing!"

Goku rubbed the back of his neck, " Why do you say it like that? Are you mad at Vegeta?"

He kept quiet.

" Are you, Piccolo?"

Of course, he should have anticipated Goku's honest questioning. The saiyan wasn't the type to be evasive. His mannerism, often times, reflected bluntness but not in the form of ridicule or harm. Piccolo perceived the straightforwardness as Goku's way of expressing his concern. It was a noble characteristic and Piccolo accepted this trait about Goku without much complaint. Concerning most matters, he had no problem giving Earth's hero an answer. But, right now, he felt unable to reply. The words to say seemed without form; they were just bits and pieces sliding to and fro through his brain.

"Is that why you don't want to train with him?"

He still couldn't speak.

"Alright, I get it. You know Chichi does this to me sometimes," he turned to face the front door, " I'll leave you alone."

Piccolo quietly sighed. He listened as the sound of Goku's footsteps slowly faded. Then, he heard the front door open and close. He imagined the saiyan would return eventually and by that time, Piccolo knew he'd fare much better in the conversation. Right now, he needed a moment to think.

I have to let this go...  
I have to let him go...

Frustrated, he placed his palm over his eyes. And just in that moment, Piccolo heard the front door open. A familiar energy engulfed his senses. It was overwhelming. It consumed him, as if it was swallowing him whole and drowning him with its might. And just as before, Piccolo knew he had to flee. If he didn't, there would be another breach and he feared nothing would be able to seal it. As he prepared to take flight, his ally spoke suddenly.

"Pathetic! Look at you! I give you a little. And I assure you, it was only a little and yet, you fall so deep."  
Piccolo clenched his hand into a hard fist. Without a word, he quickly took to the air.

TBC...I bet you figured it out already...the pairing, that is. ^_^


End file.
